Burning Brightly
by Remember How I Used To Be
Summary: Misandria burned like the twin suns of Tatooine, her passions wild and unpredictable. Quinn was Hoth: cold and harsh on the surface, holding back the molten core that threatened to bubble forth. If their passions ignited and joined, nothing in the galaxy could stop them. But first they had to overcome the walls between them. F!SW/Malavai Quinn
1. Quinn's Story

Lieutenant Malavai Quinn set his small box of personal effects on the desk and cast his gaze around the room. It was dark, like many Imperial-designed buildings, and bare. He supposed he should be used to the gloom and sparseness by now, but he wasn't. At least it was clean, which was more than he could say for some of his previous postings, especially Moff Broysc's flagship. Apparently the janitorial droids were gathering information about the vessel for some, as yet, unidentified species of sentient life. Upon making this "discovery," the Moff had promptly banned all droids on the ship, demanding his officers and crewmen clean the ship thoroughly every day. Needless to say, he rarely gave them the opportunity to do so and the ship fell into an abysmal state.

For the time being, the Lieutenant decided, anything was better than his former commander's ship. The room and the building it was part of were newly built. Once he was suitably established on the base, Quinn would requisition the items he felt necessary. Considering he had very little, the requisition list would be short. Perhaps a couch or two, something besides the stiff-backed chairs and his bunk to sit on. Maybe some additional shelving. For now, the shelves at the edges of the room were enough to contain his few belongings.

The man smiled bitterly at the thought. He was thirty-two and had so little to show for his life. A few holobooks, a small collection of medical paraphernalia which had piqued his interest in studying medicine, and a killik claw he'd taken for a trophy as a young man were all he had to truly call his own.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, he mused, running his gloved fingers over the killik claw. Malavai Quinn was born on Alderaan, a servant in one of House Thul's vassal houses: House Cortess. His mother was Baroness Cortess's handmaiden. No one was quite certain who his father was. Rumors always swirled, of course, but nothing definitive was ever found. Some wanted to claim he was the Baron's bastard. As a young boy, he'd always hoped that one was true, but he knew by the time he was thirteen that it was not possible. Quinn bore absolutely no resemblance to the Baron. In fact, he bore no resemblance to anyone in House Cortess or House Thul save his servant mother. Some claimed his father was a bounty hunter, passing through the planet on a hunt. Others said a Sith was the father. Quinn's mother refused to give any clue to his identity.

Whatever the truth, Quinn long ago gave up learning who his father was. Unless his father suddenly came swooping down from the stars, the boy's fate on Alderaan was sealed. To escape a servant's life was nearly impossible. The talented ones rose to service in the guard. The lucky ones made it off-world.

The officer sighed, putting the claw down. He wasn't sure if he was one of the lucky ones or not. It took years of training in secret to be able to impress the guard recruiter enough for certain restrictions to be waived. Quinn was sixteen when he entered the Cortess Household Guard. Being born a servant, he would never rise very high, but his quick thinking and analytical abilities soon set him apart as a singularly talented tactician. The head of the Guard took notice. By the time he was twenty, Quinn was leading squads into the holdings of House Organa to great success. The trouble came when House Thul demanded his transfer to one of their units.

Eagerly, he agreed. Becoming a member of House Thul's Guard was an honor afforded to few, even from within the House. However, the honor came with a price: all of the freedom and prestige he'd earned in House Cortess vanished. The young man simply bit his lip and kept silent. He was lucky to be where he was.

Then came that fateful day. Quinn's squad was on patrol. Orders came down for Quinn to lead his men on a mission that amounted to suicide. With his men clearly on the verge of defecting over the issue, Quinn had come up with a solution to achieve the objective with minimal loss of life. His men agreed and followed him willingly into battle. Only one man died.

The men praised their young leader for his quick thinking. The officer who had given the command, however, was furious at having been ignored and, essentially, labelled a fool. In retaliation, he ordered the young guard brought before the House Guards on charges of insubordination.

Malavai Quinn found himself dragged before the highest ranking Thul guards. The trial that followed excluded all testimony from his own men regarding his decisions. It did not shock him, though it enraged him, when a guilty verdict was read. His sentence consisted of two floggings, six months imprisonment, and removal from the guard. One flogging would take place immediately following the trial. The other would take place just before his release from the jail.

The Lieutenant entered the refresher, stripping his travel-worn uniform from his body. He paused, looking at his body in the mirror. The skin of his body was nearly white. He appeared to be spending too much time in the darkness. Sunlight was important, he reminded himself. Yet it was not the paleness of his flesh that held his gaze.

Just visible from the front, scars stretched around his sides and shoulders, trailing down to the tops of his hipbones. Turning slightly, the officer looked over his back. The scars were still there, as they had been for the past ten years, as they always would be. The memory of receiving them still caused his cheeks to flush red with anger and shame.

Two Thul guards had stripped the young man to the waist, then bound his arms tightly around a column. The man wielding the whip had a fearsome reputation. As one of House Thul's jailers, he was well-versed in fighting, interrogation, and punishment techniques. His skill with the whip, both as a weapon and as an implement of pain, was formidable. Men sentenced to punishment beneath him always had scars from their beatings, if they survived them.

The young man pressed his lips tightly together as the first blow of the whip sliced across his back. Another fell, just beneath the first, the tip biting into the flesh just below his ribs. Breath hissed out from between his lips. Another crack of the whip, then another.

Malavai bit his lower lip to hold back the pained cries threatening to tear themselves from his lips. His hands balled into trembling fists as he strained against his bonds with each blow. With no limit on how many strokes he could receive, the young man knew he was likely to be beaten until he lost consciousness. The commander was furious enough to allow it, even encourage it. Already the blood trickled down his back and his head was light with pain.

The only thing that kept him conscious was the pride of his men. Even above the roaring in his ears, he could hear his men calling out in indignation. The squad had been excluded from the court room, and, now, had to be held back from surging to their leader's rescue. Quinn could not lose face now by fainting.

He did not attempt to count the stripes, simply trying to stay conscious and silent. When the beating ended abruptly, he was surprised. It took him a moment to realize the crowd had fallen silent around him. The guards appeared before him, unlocking the binders around his wrists. One of his men caught him as he fell.

"What's happened?" he managed through gritted teeth.

"You've been released, sir," his squad mate answered. "One of the Thul nobles sided with you."

As if called, one of the Thuls stepped in front of the pair. With him was a uniformed Imperial officer. Malavai pulled away from his squad mate as best he could, attempting to bow to the noble. He only just managed to remain on his feet as the world spun violently around him.

"Get him medical treatment," the Imperial officer snapped, "I want him alive and fully functioning by morning."

"Yes, sir," the Thul noble answered. With a snap of his fingers, two of his personal guards descended upon Quinn, lifting him between them. The young man watched the Imperial intensely as he was carried away. What did they want with him?

Lieutenant Quinn stepped out of the refresher, toweling the dampness from his body and hair. He'd been barely twenty-one when the Imperial officer offered him the chance to escape Alderaan. With Malavai's analytical mind, he would make a powerful asset to the Imperial military. Having been removed from the Thul Guard, he accepted.

Life in the Academy was a far cry from life in the Guard. His freedoms expanded exponentially. As a Guard on Alderaan, he'd been forbidden to take lovers or a wife without permission from his commanders. Obviously, he never sought such permission, though he'd occasionally found a servant woman willing to break the rules with him. In the Academy, he could have had any woman he'd wanted. The few female cadets were drawn to him, even making obvious advances on him. Yet he could never bring himself to respond to their advances. Though his body desperately desired them, his pride would not allow it for fear they would see his scars and ask awkward question. Or, worse, they would assume he was a freed slave.

Every Sith and soldier who sent flirtations his way had to be gently rebuffed. It made for many lonely nights. Sometimes he had managed to slip off the Red Light Sector of a planet he was stationed near, allowing himself some release. Yet it was never enough. The cost of such brief encounters was much higher than the pleasure he gained. So he stopped.

Quinn sighed and pulled on a clean uniform. Darth Baras would be expecting a report shortly. It would not do to anger his new master, not when that master was all that was standing between him and a penal colony right now. He supposed Balmorra was better than that at the very least.

**A/N: I've been scribbling bits and pieces of this story for a while now. It will update when I've finished a piece to my satisfaction. **

**A/N 2: I had an anon comment on this via Tumblr complaining that Quinn was born and raised on Dromund Kaas, not Alderaan. Outside of others' fanfictions, I've found no evidence to support this. The closest thing I've found was a blip on the SWTOR main website citing his homeworld as Dromund Kaas. For me and many others I've talked to, one's homeworld (or hometown) is not necessarily the same as the place that one was born and raised. I consider my hometown to be where I've spent most of my life, 100+ miles from where I was born. My mother was born in one city 550+ miles from the city she considers to be her hometown, and she lived in four others between the time of her birth and moving to where she lives now (her hometown). **


	2. Misandria's Story

Misandria took a deep breath and she stepped out of the spaceport. It had been a week since she'd last been off her ship, nearly a year since she'd last seen the sun. After the cold metal interior of her ship, the sun-warmed air of Balmorra felt like heaven. For a girl born and raised on Korriban, the year she'd spent running errands for Baras on Dromund Kaas had been the wettest, dreariest year of her life.

Vette nearly ran her mistress over in her haste to get into a patch of sunlight. The Sith apprentice watched the Twi'lek girl basking in the sun. Misandria did not know what to make of the slave. Often the girl was loud, obnoxious, and rather rude to those around her. To Misandria, she was much more polite and, yet, she still let her comedic nature shine through as she teased the Sith. She was the only being who was genuinely kind and friendly, something which startled the Sith to no end. No one was ever kind to her.

Well, there had been one person kind to her. Misandria had only faint memories of a blonde-haired woman singing tenderly to her. That was the only memory she had of the woman she believed to be her mother. The woman vanished when Misandria was only two years old.

The man she knew as her father was a far different creature. He was a human Sith lord. Misandria did her best years later to learn as much as she could about her father, just to know what gifts in the Force he might have passed to her. Most of the records regarding her father were sealed away. What she did find was disappointing at best. Her father was as brutish as Darth Baras's former apprentice Dri'kill Ba'al had accused her of being. His skill with the Force was only a threat when it combined with his physical strength. For the most part, he ignored his only child. She was eight years old and he was dead before anyone paid enough attention to her to realize that she was Force sensitive.

The one who first noticed the girl's abilities happened to be her father's twin brother. Misandria's father was strong, but not terribly intelligent. His brother, however, was a genius, and, though physically weaker, he was stronger in the Force. The anger and rage that had existed in the girl's father was tripled in his brother. Obsessed with building the perfect Sith warrior, he began Misandria's training immediately.

The physical and emotional abuse the sensitive child received at her uncle's hand created a deep-seated hatred of males. All males. When other Sith on Dromund Kaas had their acolytes train with Misandria, they noticed. The girl would go out of her way to destroy her male opponents first, even if a female posed a greater threat. Male allies she summarily ignored or dominated to the point they could no longer function independently. As for higher ranking Sith and Imperial males, the girl displayed barely veiled contempt. Her actions and reactions soon earned her the name "Misandria," meaning hater of men.

Overseer Tremel foolishly ignored her hatred when he summoned her to Korriban. The horrified look on his face as she slaughtered him with ease had sustained her throughout her trials. She shivered with anticipation every time she pictured that same look on the face of her new master, Darth Baras. It was a look she would see every time she cut down a Force-sensitive opponent when they felt the darkness rolling from her body, the depth of which astounded any who happened to probe it and survive.

Her path was one of death and destruction. Something, she couldn't quite identify, had changed in her when she met Vette. Though she'd never tell the Twi'lek, she personally believed Vette was only reason she was still alive. The alien seemed to know when she was about to push someone too far, something Misandria had never learned before meeting the slave. Whatever the truth, Misandria's attitude shifted a great deal once she began travelling with Vette.

The Sith apprentice learned the value of flirting and playing nice with males on the Imperial home world. Being nicer, though certainly not trusting the males, was something she learned from Vette. The Twi'lek was nice enough to everyone around her, letting the insults fly only once she was sure she could win the fight. The slave knew how to pick her fights, side-stepping threats too great for her. This she taught her new mistress.

The flirtations Misandria discovered for herself. When she started looking at males more carefully, she noticed they appeared quite fixated with her body. Almost immediately she began searching for more seductive armor. It had to be practical, but she wanted to give the illusion that more was on display. If a male was foolish enough to display interest in her body, she pounced quickly with flattery and sweet words. It took some time, but she was eventually able to conceal her hatred and distrust for males so completely that one would never know it existed if she did not wish them to.

Her apparent change from attempting to kill males to bedding them startled the Sith lords and Darths around her. Let them wonder. She enjoyed the power she was developing. Yet mitigation of her obvious misandry, even her numerous bed partners, did not mean she trusted or liked males. Flirtations became a tool, preparing any male for domination or destruction at her hands. Men were her playthings, to be used and discarded on a whim, to be dominated or destroyed.

Glancing at the directions on her datapad, Misandria started off through the busy streets of Sobrik. Vette trailed behind, making her usually commentary on everyone and everything around her. The Sith only half listened, her mind as occupied with wondering about her contact.

Baras had informed his apprentice that her liaison was an Imperial officer, Lieutenant Malavai Quinn. After the last few encounters she'd had with Baras's lackeys, Misandria held little hope for this male being of the type for her to dominate and bed. The Sith under Baras were to be destroyed immediately, too dangerous to keep them around. The Imperial soldiers were weak and, often, whimpering little insects, barely worth her time or energy. They were better off being ignored as they were clearly already broken by her master.

Commander Lanklyn had been little better than worthless on Dromund Kaas. Commander Pritch was so worried about impressing his master that he barely could remember his instructions. Ba'al was an insufferable fool. Somehow, Misandria did not think this Lieutenant Quinn would be any different. At such a low rank, he couldn't possibly have been in the military all that long. If he owed Baras his career, as Baras alluded to, then he obviously was not the most competent man.

"Shut up, Vette," Misandria ordered, coming to a halt. "We're here."

"Shutting up," the Twi'lek chirped, pinching her lips together comically. Misandria rolled her eyes and turned away before the younger female could see the tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Time to go see what incompetent worm you've saddled me with this time, Baras."


	3. The Hunt Begins

"The Lieutenant sure knows how to feed a Sith," Vette chirped, leaning back in her chair with a contented sigh.

Misandria gave her companion a bemused glance before returning to watching the Imperial officer over the rim of her wine glass. Once the initial introductions had been made, Misandria had taken the opportunity to examine her liaison's physique. Standing nearly a hand taller than the Sith, Quinn was certainly well-formed. His shoulders were broader than hers, and well-muscled. The tight uniform served only to accent each and every muscle of his body. The strong arms were framed beautifully by the grey material. His trousers clung to the shapely thighs. A pretty face and delightful derriere completed the physical package.

Lieutenant Malavai Quinn was nothing like the young woman had imagined. He was older than she'd guessed. According to the digging Vette did, the officer was nearly 42-years-old. He was far from incompetent, able to get her out of several tight spots already and providing her with incredibly detailed intel. And, much to Misandria's delight, he was most certainly not broken. The tiny burst of anger she'd seen before her first meeting with the Lieutenant hinted at a deep well of passion, buried far beneath the cold surface.

What intrigued the Sith apprentice was the officer's continued resistance to her advances. Her flirtations barely made any difference on the soldier's stoic face. Brushing against his body did little more than make him tense.

"See if you can find me some rubat crystals in this town, Vette," Misandria ordered, her eyes never leaving Quinn's body.

"Gotcha!" The Twi'lek was out the door in an instant, excited to have an opportunity to explore alone. The Sith had at least an hour before she returned. Rising silently from her place at the table, Misandria stalked her prey.

"I think I'll make that call to Baras now," she whispered in the lieutenant's ear, pressing her body against his back. Quinn whirled, clearly startled.

"O-of course, my lord," he managed, gesturing to the next room. A blush spread across his cheeks at her touch. "My barracks are yours."

Misandria gave him a silky smile, trailing her finger tips over his chest.

"Of course they are." She left him standing in front of his console, clearly more flustered by this advance than the previous. His heart rate clearly accelerated beneath her touch, and it was not merely fear she'd felt rolling off him.

The call to Baras ended as quickly as she could possibly manage. The young woman intended to make the most of her time alone with Quinn.

The officer handed her a datapad with information he'd compiled on the Balmorran Arms Factory, her final target. As the Sith quickly scanned the intel, she felt him watching her. His gaze was clearly not professional as it swept up and down her body, taking full measure of her.

"I am excited by the prospect of you laying waste to that place," he announced, concluding his briefing on the factory.

Her eyes shot up, capturing the officer in her gaze. A teasing smirk danced about her lips.

"So, I excite you, do I?"

Almost immediately the stony façade shattered. In the place of the normally calm and collected officer stood a flustered and off-guard man. As he answered her, his eyes landed on everything except her. Red once more began coloring the tips of his ears and ran along the sides of his neck. Clearly, she'd hit a nerve.

"Admit it," she purred, drawing closer to him, her chest just brushing his, "You like me, don't you, Quinn?"

"My lord!" He took a step backwards. Misandria followed, backing him slowly towards the wall of his chambers.

"Is this an appropriate time and place for such an inquiry? You're putting me in a very awkward position." A collision with the cold durasteel wall behind him forced the man to stop moving away.

Misandria chuckled as she advanced on him. She had him right where she wanted him, trapped between one of the building's internal supports and a table, his back pressed against the wall. What was most interesting was, despite his protests, Quinn was clearly excited and aroused, not afraid. His pupils dilated as his eyes swept over her once more. His heart rate increased as she drew nearer, and his breathing grew more rapid and shallow.

"Aren't your quarters an appropriate place?" Her words came out warm against his throat. A shiver ran through him as she moved her lips tenderly along the pale flesh. Her hands ran up and down his chest, testing his body and finding that it responded readily to her touch. Already she could feel the bulge growing in his trousers, pressing against her abdomen.

"Uh, I grant you that," he managed, his voice trembling as he fought to regain control of his body. Her hands dipping lower on his body caused the breath to catch in his throat.

"It's not the place, perhaps, but—uh—," his words cut off. Instead he groaned as pleasure raced through his body. Misandria stroked his hard length through the material of his trousers, drawing a second, far quieter groan from his lips.

"—rather the time that leaves something to be desired," Quinn finished, panting. His self-control returned with a vengeance. Misandria found her wrists seized, her hands yanked away from the officer's body.

She quirked an eyebrow, observing her prey as he held her at bay. His normally pale skin was flushed, sweat already appeared on his brow. Warm air was forced out through his nose in unsteady, short puffs as he attempted to regulate his breathing once more. There was a distinctive tremble in his hands as he kept them from returning to their previous ministrations.

"My lord," he whispered hoarsely, "I am here to do a job. Allow me to do it to the best of my abilities. Without distraction."

"Very well." Misandria pulled away, the lieutenant releasing her hands immediately. She cast her gaze once more over the trembling, sweating man before sweeping imperiously from the room. The blatant rejection stung. She'd never before encountered such staunch resistance to her advances, especially once she had them pinned to the wall. Lieutenant Malavai Quinn was proving to be her first real challenge.


	4. Reassignment

"And how would you assess Lieutenant Quinn's contribution?" Darth Baras asked his apprentice, gesturing in the officer's direction. The apprentice turned her cold blue gaze to Quinn.

For one brief moment Lieutenant Quinn knew what true fear was. His stomach knotted and his muscles tensed. The need to vomit and the desire to run were nearly overpowering. Yet he couldn't let any weakness show, not now. He calmly returned the Sith's gaze, praying she could not see the fear in his heart. After his rejection of her advances, Misandria's demeanor toward him had chilled considerably. Her communications with him were only out of necessity, and they were barely civil at times. If her report to her master was negative, he risked not only his military career, such as it was, but his life as well.

"Lieutenant Quinn is an exceptional officer. I couldn't have done it without him," she said finally.

Relief suffused his body. He did not trust himself to speak, bowing gratefully to the young woman instead. The positive response was not what he had expected after her treatment of him for the past several weeks.

"High praise indeed," Baras remarked, sounding surprised as his apprentice's praise. "Quinn, I believe you have sufficiently repaid the debt owed to me. I am putting you up for a captaincy and transmitting an executive order, allowing you to station wherever you choose. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Lord Baras," Quinn answered quickly, feeling a little light-headed. He was free of Balmorra at last. Even as he continued addressing the Sith lord on the holoterminal, his mind was already running through the list of places he had barely dared to imagine assignment to.

"My lord," he said finally, turning his attention to the apprentice. After all, he would not be getting off this rock were it not for her well-timed praise to Baras. "Before I depart, it's been my extreme honor to serve you. You are the epitome of everything the Empire stands for."

"I'm going to miss you rugged good looks, Quinn," she quipped, a devious sparkle returning to her blue eyes.

"Maybe our paths will cross once more, My Lord." For one brief moment, Quinn considered requesting assignment to her vessel, but rejected the notion just as quickly. While the young woman was certainly a rising star within the Empire, she was just as likely to burn out quickly, taking those around her out, as she was to truly make a positive mark on the Empire. He needed to be somewhere he could make the greatest contribution to the Imperial war effort.

Quinn snapped to attention one last time before showing himself out of the room and retreating to his barracks. There was no time to waste in getting off the planet. Even without an official destination, as yet, the Lieutenant could safely visit the Vaiken Spacedock for much needed supplies before submitting his reassignment papers.

The last of Quinn's medical holobooks had just been packed away when the holoterminal signaled an incoming call. His heart sank as he recognized the frequency. If Baras was calling him less than an hour after promoting and freeing him, it could only mean that he was not free.

"My Lord," the lieutenant intoned politely, bowing.

"I'm sure you have guessed some of why I called, Quinn," Baras stated.

"I can only assume that my debt has not yet been paid in full," he answered, masking the bitterness he felt.

"You are correct."

No, Malavai thought bitterly, debts to a Sith are never paid. He would forever be Baras's slave.

"What are your orders, My Lord?"

"Join my apprentice's crew," the Sith ordered.

Quinn clasped his hands tightly behind his back to still their trembling. So much for freedom.

"After our previous conversation, she will assume the request is of your own freewill. While she has been nothing but compliant in the execution of my will, I cannot help but notice the rebellious streak in her," Baras told the Imperial. "You will be my agent aboard her vessel. She will keep me apprised of her missions. You will keep me apprised of her actions separate from her orders. Do I make myself clear?"

"Affirmative."

"Need I remind you what the consequences of failing to join her crew will be?"

A chill ran through Quinn. His mother.

"No, My Lord. No reminder is necessary. I will accomplish your will."

"Very good. You are dismissed."

The holoterminal went dead. Quinn's impassive appearance vanished. He ran a trembling hand through his hair as he fought to contain the emotions roiling within him. Despair at ever being free of Sith power games. Fear for his mother's safety should he ever slip up and fail. Anger at Baras for daring to use Quinn's mother as a pawn in game she wasn't even aware of.

After a moment, the Lieutenant drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He had a task to complete. Glancing at the chrono sent a jolt through him. The apprentice's ship was scheduled for take-off in less than twenty minutes.

Thankfully, his belongings were packed. Once again he was glad for so few possessions. A droid was summoned to take his belongings to the spaceport and load them aboard the Sith's vessel. The officer made the assumption that he would be aboard that vessel as well. He couldn't afford not to be.

Within fifteen minutes, Lieutenant Quinn stood at the foot of the ramp leading into the docked ship. According to the spaceport authorities, the Sith had not yet returned to her vessel. Standing in the docking bay, awaiting her return tore at his resolve.

Misandria was far from a typical Sith. Her skill with manipulations of the Force, for instance, Force lightning, were almost non-existent. She was far faster than most Sith, and certainly stronger physically than any female he'd ever encountered, Sith or not. Her ability to sense people through the Force seemed to be rather lacking as well. She did seem to have a knack for knowing when she was being watched, however. A pickpocket nonchalantly walking past her had nearly claimed her holocommunicator because he wasn't looking at her. A Republic sniper on a rooftop two kilometers away had drawn her notice for targeting her.

The officer sighed. The one thing that marked her as a typical Sith was the one thing he feared most. Her sexual advances on him were all too common for Sith. In his ten year posting on Balmorra, forty-two different Sith, both males and females of varying species, made advances on his person. Most of them backed off when he rebuffed their attentions. A few of the more persistent ones had to be frightened off by Baras's personal intervention. What differentiated Misandria was Malavai's own reaction to her. While not a single Sith before her could fluster him in the slightest, her attentions, her mere presence, set his heart racing.

Her familiar footfalls echoed through the bay. Quinn took a deep breath and turned to face her.


End file.
